


Three Years

by splkespiegel



Category: Cowboy Bebop
Genre: M/M, was going to make this more sad but im a sap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 13:14:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5092076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/splkespiegel/pseuds/splkespiegel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The progression of intimacy between Spike and Jet, split into five very important days.<br/>Takes place from Spike and Jet's first meeting to shortly after the crew picks up Ed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Years

_May 7 th, 2069._

Jet wasn’t quite sure what he thought of this guy yet. It had been about three weeks since this kid – Spike – had first started mooching off of him. Spike insisted it was just a ride, a temporary arrangement until he could get his bearings and go solo again, but he had already dropped his shit in one of the spare rooms and made himself comfortable.

Jet told himself that he would eventually tell him to fuck off and find another ship to live on, but the truth was he was getting a little attached to him. It had been less than a month and already Jet had trouble remembering what life was like without wisps of smoke lingering in the living room, without the sound of someone in the other room packing his cigarettes just so – five times with the pack facing one way, five times with it facing the other, only then would he unwrap the pack and take out a cigarette – or without the unique sense of solidarity that came with being in someone’s presence and falling into a comfortable silence.

Jet considered this as he leaned over the kitchen counter and stared at Spike, who was lounging on the couch with a book over his face. That habit was something else Jet had picked up on. Whenever he slept on the couch, Spike dug up a book to block out the overhead light. The book this time, upon closer examination, was 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. Jet wondered if Spike even read the books he used for this purpose, or if he just used them because they were close at hand and easier than draping his arm over his eyes.

The sound of something sizzling on the stovetop snapped Jet out of his thoughts. He rushed to turn the burner off and move the pan onto the other side of the stove. They had picked up a pretty big bounty that week, and even after repairs and astral gate fees, they had enough money to get a few pounds of actual meat. Jet considered it a god damn miracle, since Spike seemed to have a penchant for racking up medical bills – for others just as much as himself.

“Hey, Spike.” Jet shouted over his shoulder. “Food.”

He heard the book fall to the floor as Spike sat up. “What’s cookin’?”

“Bell peppers and beef. With real beef tonight, courtesy of that bounty we nabbed yesterday.” Jet grinned.

“Never thought I’d see the day.” Spike chuckled, reaching into his pocket for the pack of cigarettes he had yet to open. He flipped the pack upside down and banged it against the heel of his palm five times, then turned it to face the other way and did it again.

Jet smiled despite himself. He’d noticed that Marlboro smokers always seemed to pack. He was a Newport man himself, and he’d never picked up the packing habit, but he’d never seen anyone pack as meticulously as Spike did. He had never asked why he did it, and didn’t really plan to. It was just a strange thing that Spike did, sitting on top of the pile of various other strange things that Spike did.

“You need a light?” Jet asked, setting Spike’s plate on the table in front of him.

Spike rummaged through his pockets and pulled out a disposable lighter. Jet had seen Spike use that lighter before, and it almost never lit, so he took it upon himself to take the thing out of Spike’s hands and pull out his own.

Spike hummed something of a “thanks” and took a long drag before setting his cigarette in the nearest ashtray and getting to his food.

“You know,” Jet started, sitting on the couch beside Spike. “I can tell that this isn’t just a ride anymore.”

Spike paused for a moment, setting his plate down. “What makes you think that?”

“Well, you’ve already dropped all your things in one of the spare rooms.”

“Where else would I sleep, the couch?”

“And you converted another room into a workshop.”

“To keep myself busy.”

“And you’ve only been here three weeks, but you’re already acting like you own the damned place.”

“That’s just how I act in general, Jet.”

Jet took a deep breath and shut his eyes. One of Spike’s favorite things to do was antagonize him to see how worked up he would get, and he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing him explode when he was trying to be serious.

“What I’m getting at is clearly you have nowhere else to go. And I have enough room on the ship for two people. So if you want to, you can just live here.”

“Do I need to pay rent?” Spike grinned, twirling his chopsticks in his food.

“You’ve been helping with bounties. That’s good enough in my book.”

Spike held his hand out. “Guess I’ll take you up on that offer, then.”

Jet shook Spike’s hand and went back to eating. Though he tried not to linger on the thought of it, he noticed that Spike’s hands were warm and calloused, just like his own.

           

_October 23 rd, 2069._

“Don’t try to talk.” Jet grunted, pulling Spike out of the cockpit of the Hammerhead and slinging one of his limp arms over his shoulders. Spike had gotten into another fight that day, but this one was worse than either of them could have anticipated. If Jet hadn’t received that emergency transmission in time….

_No. Don’t think about that. Focus on right now._

Jet had thrown the Hammerhead into autopilot when he managed to haul Spike in with him to put pressure on his wounds. There had to be at least three bullets in the kid, and the hasty patch job he’d done earlier wouldn’t hold forever.

Spike hissed in pain when he inhaled, but spoke anyway. “You’re telling _me_ not to talk? Do you even know me?”

“I said to shut up, Spike!” Jet growled, pulling him onto a table in the cargo hold and running for the nearest first aid kit. “You act like you _want_ to bleed out!”

Spike fell silent at that.

Strangely silent.

“Shit.” Jet muttered, checking Spike’s neck for a pulse – just in case. He felt a weak thrumming against his fingers and, relieved, set to work removing any bullets he still had stuck in him and bandaging his wounds.

Spike was out for three days after the fact. Jet never left his side, except to make food for the both of them or to check to make sure that the Bebop’s autopilot was keeping them on course.

He had called in a favor for an old buddy to fetch the Swordfish II and bring it back to their cargo hold, since he hadn’t had the time to pick it up himself. No matter what Spike said about the old thing, he could tell she was his pride and joy. He’d said once that he’d had her for seven years, and that he’d gotten her from a man named Doohan on Earth. Jet had heard stories about the guy; a reclusive genius who’d dedicated his life to ship building and repair and couldn’t keep an assistant for more than two months.

Jet jerked out of his thoughts when he heard Spike stir in his sleep. He seemed to wake up in increments – his fingers began to twitch, like he was searching for something, then his face scrunched up in something of a grimace, and finally, he opened his eyes.

“How are you feeling?” Jet asked, scooting forward in his seat. His eyes raked over Spike’s form, looking for any signs of tension or stress. He seemed to be doing okay, at least as far as he could see.

“Tired.” Spike mumbled, reaching into his pockets for a pack of cigarettes that wasn’t there.

“You slept for three days straight, Spike.” Jet chuckled, passing his own cigarette to him. “Hope you don’t mind Newport.”

Spike made a sound of mock disgust, but accepted it anyway. “Newport. You heathen.”

“Hey now, beggars can’t be choosers.” Jet said, moving to tap Spike on the shoulder but deciding against it at the last second.

Spike passed the cigarette back to Jet. Jet smiled, took a drag, and passed it to Spike. They fell into a comfortable rhythm, and didn’t move from their places until they had finished the last of the pack.

 

_December 31 st, 2069._

“Who cares that it’s a new year?” Spike said, leaning back on the couch. “It’s not like this year is gonna be different from every other one. It’s not special.”

“Well, it’s nice to have something to celebrate,” Jet replied, popping open a bottle of champagne and flinching away when the cork bounced off of a rafter and rocketed dangerously close to his face. “New year, new you, and all that.”

Spike flipped the TV on with his foot and stared at the live broadcast of the big New Year’s celebration in Tharsis City. Back before the astral gate accident, the festivities took place in Old New York, but now Tharsis housed the ball that dropped every year instead.

“I thought you were supposed to pop the champagne when the ball drops, Jet.” Spike said, leaning his head over the back of the couch and showing off his best shit-eating grin. “We still have five minutes.”

“Can it.” Jet chuckled, filling two glasses and passing one to Spike. “If you really want to, we can wait to drink until the ball drops.”

Spike had noticed that Jet always did a little something for holidays. He had put out a plastic pumpkin on Halloween, and on Christmas he insisted that they stop for a few hours on Callisto to at least see some snow. He had even asked for Spike’s birthday so that he could make him a cake. Clearly, Jet wanted to wait for the ball to drop; he was only asking because it fit their little banter.

“Sure.” Spike said, turning up the TV so that they could actually hear the broadcast over the roar of the air recirculator.

Jet settled into the couch next to Spike and threw his arm over the top of it, behind Spike’s shoulders, and Spike’s grin grew. This was one of the best opportunities to work Jet up that he had ever gotten, and he refused to pass it up.

Spike set his glass on the table next to him and, in one fluid motion, grabbed hold of Jet’s wrist to pull his arm down as he settled his head in Jet’s lap. He placed Jet’s hand in his hair and looked up at him expectantly, still smiling.

Jet just barely managed to contain a splutter. “What, you want me to pet you?”

“Yeah.” Spike said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “I like it when people play with my hair.”

This time Jet couldn’t hold it back. He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again, searching for words.

Spike hummed and pointed at the TV screen. “It’s almost time.”

Jet sighed and focused his attention back on the broadcast. Indeed, it was only 30 seconds until the New Year – for the time zone Tharsis was in, at least, although they were somewhere in Mars’s orbit, so it was good enough. Without realizing it, Jet began to thread his fingers through Spike’s hair, smoothing the back down and scratching at his scalp.

Jet clinked his glass against Spike’s when the clock hit midnight and was reminded of a cat – a scrawny little striped cat, who wandered onto his ship and asked him to pet it and had decided that it was just going to live there, whether he liked it or not.

 

_July 12 th, 2070._

It was just past three AM when Jet heard the door to his room open. He was facing the wall, but he didn’t need to turn around to know that it was the only other person on the ship standing in the doorway.

“What is it?” Jet mumbled.

After a few seconds passed with no response, Jet rolled over to see what Spike was doing. He was slumped over and so pale that the florescent lights of the hallway made him look like a ghost, a ghost with dark circles around its empty eyes and early lines in its face.

“Is… something wrong?” Jet said, his body waking up and going into panic mode. He was too pale, was he sick? Shit, he was probably sick, they didn’t have any meds on the ship, he would have to stop somewhere to get something to help….

“Can’t sleep.” Spike said, his voice pitifully small. He took a deep breath that shook at the edges and for a moment Jet thought he might start crying, right there in the hall. “Nightmares.”

Jet pulled up the corner of his covers without skipping a beat. He knew what Spike was going through, what awful memories his mind must have brought forth, and it was the least he could do to offer him somewhere to hide from it all.

Spike clambered into the bed and wrapped his arms around Jet. “I’m sorry. It’s just… it’s so cold.” He whispered, his grip on the back of Jet’s nightshirt tightening for a moment.

Jet pushed his surprise at Spike being so open to the back of his mind, putting a hand on the small of his back in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. “It’s fine.”

Jet didn’t let himself fall asleep until Spike’s breathing evened out.

 

_March 22 nd, 2071._

“It’s kind of weird, living with four people on here.” Spike said, stretching out on the couch to plant his head in Jet’s lap. Ever since the first time he had done it, the lazy little show of affection had just become a part of their daily routine – Spike would get bored, drape himself over Jet’s lap like a spoiled cat, and Jet would just sigh, maybe smile and shake his head, and curl his fingers in Spike’s hair.

“Don’t forget Ein.” Jet said, flipping the TV to the new episode of Big Shot. Bounties were sparse this season, and they needed to grab anything they could get.

“Ein’s not a person, Jet, he’s a mutt.” Spike huffed. “Just the dog I could stand, but being around Faye and Ed is exhausting.”

“Oh come on, don’t be like that.” Jet chuckled, twirling a lock of Spike’s hair between his thumb and forefinger. “You know you love them.”

Spike fixed his eyes on the wall with a petulant look on his face and Jet couldn’t help but lean down to kiss him. Even after all those months of sleeping together in Jet’s bed, exchanging shy touches and kisses and secrets that they dared not let see the light of day, Jet had to remind a part of himself that this kind of affection was okay, welcomed, even.

Spike cupped his hand around the back of Jet’s neck when he moved to sit up again and held him there, their lips centimeters apart. “Not as much as I love you.”

Jet blushed furiously, trying and failing to break Spike’s gaze. He would never get used to those words, no matter how much he loved to hear them.

“You know,” Faye said as she ducked though the entrance to the main room, “you two could at least have the decency to cuddle in your own rooms. There’s a lady on board now, do try to remember that.”

“Lady on board, Faye-Faye on board!” Ed giggled, spinning into the room with Ein perched precariously on her shoulders. “The lady and the cowboy and the dragon!”

Spike smiled up at Jet as if Jet had made the sun for him in his workshop, and Jet couldn’t help but be thankful that he had a big enough heart and a clouded enough mind to let these weirdos live on his ship.


End file.
